The King of Cats
by Season of Mists
Summary: Harry has fallen ill but his illness is nothing a doctor can cure: an inmense sadness has hollowed out his voice and body Hermione attempts to help him, by calling upon the boon of the King. The King of what? Why, of everything!
1. Prologue

Prologue 

"There was a man.  
There was a lady.

There was a man, his name was James.  
There was a lady, her name was Lily.

There was a child.

There was a man, he had a son.  
There was a lady, she had a son.

There were three. Was, were. There were two people; there is still a boy.

There is a child, his name is Harry.  
Was, was, were. The child could bear those words no longer.

There is a child, and he flips through a book.  
And in the book, there was a man.  
And there was a lady.

And the boy could bear it no longer.

Was, was, were."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A voice.  
It screeched.  
"Long live the cat!  
Long live the Cat-King!"

There was a room. There were three children in it, and a smaller creature, not a child,  
not quite a man; his voice -the same voice- continued to screech:

"Long live the Cat-King!  
The Cat-King knows it all!"

Amongst the children, the girl was sighing, as pleading for more patience. She hated the smaller creature, now more than ever before. The creature, though not the type to know everything, knew things few others knew.  
And he had that type of body that knew things few ohers knew, and that type of voice that said things few others knew, and hid others he didn't know.

The voice, this time, rhymed the whole rhyme:

"Long live the cat and long live the Cat-King.  
King of all cats,  
and king of all things."

-We could do well without the silly rhymes, Peeves- said the girl, looking up at the floating smaller creature, darts of impatience out her eyes.

"Silly? Silly?" mocked the creature named Peeves.  
"Aye, not silly rhyming, but of the most helpful nature, hey Neenee-boo?"

-You heard her, now shut up, mate!-said the second child, a red-haired boy; he was trying (and trying so hard) to sound imponent, even if his skinny scrawny body revealed otherwise. -Now scram! --at this, the creature Peeves only laughed, but it had had enough fun for the night,  
and it left for this reason, no other.  
-I scared him off, luckyly.  
-...It's not as if it's even good poetry- muttered the girl, named Hermione, who above all hated mockery of her own name.

-Leave him be, I don't mind- said another voice.

A voice which came from the third child, muffled through the arms that hugged himself; a soft voice that came from the body of the child sitting on the floor, and though he was close, its sound was of a faraway nature; it was the single most empty voice in the world, hollowed by a dream of loneliness, that would not fill up with a book of memories. Was, was, were, those words haunted and strayed his own voice, after having done so to his body.  
Ill, but of no mortal maladies.

The boy was sad.

The girl, Hermione, saw it; the tall boy, named Ron saw it. The third boy was sad beyond sadness, and help was needed.

-Oh, Harry- cried Hermione -for how long have you bottled this up inside of you?  
Ron stopped her mid-action, for she was reaching for Harry's body in an attempt to embrace his sad figure.  
-Ron, why?  
-Just let him be, he needs to mope a bit; it'll pass- he whispered, motioning towards the door.

Hermione sighed again, and she and Ron left Harry alone in the room. Perhaps Ron was right, she thought; maybe Harry's in a faraway place that we can't reach, because neither of us have walked his path...

She sighed once more.  
And so the King heard this sigh, and sent for a messenger into the night.  
And they all went to sleep, and then dream. 


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The dream, what was it? She had seen it clearly, she had remembered things she forgot when she woke up. She remembered the feelings, still. Those, you always remember from your dreams, at least for a while. She felt guilty about something, and then she just felt cold; even feelings wither away during those brief moments after waking.  
Guilt? But she hadn't done anything. And so she shook away the feeling, and was just left cold. She did not trust dreams; dreams are not foretellers, they do not mean anything. Dreams are just fragments of images, picked up during the day by your subconscious, that's all.  
She believed as much of a dreams' dilly-dally, as she believed Divination to be an accurate science.

And the messenger watched through the eyes of the King, or the other way around.  
And it saw a window of opportunity, or the window opened for the King instead.  
"Tonight, dear one. Tonight we shall meet. Tonight you'll set the rules for our game."

And he was writing all he saw through the eyes of his messenger, for the King is an expert on writing the scrolls for everything.

And the King was content, and he finished up the scroll he was writing, like this:  
"And the King was content, and he finished up the scroll he was writing, like this:  
"And the King was content, and he finished up the scroll he was writing, like this:  
"And the Kind was content..."

-He was just looking at his photo album, and then he--uh--'cracked'. -hesitated Ron.  
-Don't say that!  
-C'mon Hermione, you saw it too.  
-I know, but don't say it like that; it's not polite.  
-I'm not exactly going for politeness here, 'Mione. --She winced at hearing her 'butchered' name-- Harry has finally gone 'bonkers' this time, and I don't see the reasons to keep this under the mattress, exactly.  
-Don't you, really?- Hermione was getting angrier with each remark. She just couldn't believe Ron would turn his back on his best friend like this; or maybe it was just her, it's just the way he said things, it wasn't----loyal. It sounded as if he was ready to bail on her--on them, rather; she planned to help and support Harry through and through.

An orange ball of fuzz sprung up all of a sudden, and chased an imaginary spec across the Common room's floor.

-I say that darn cat of yours-- began Ron.  
-Shh, he could hear you!- begged Hermione.  
-Look, now you are definitely losing it! Cats are animals, they don't know anything, they just act on instinct. At this, Hermione just rolled her eyes and looked away, half-looking at her cat Crookshanks, and half staring at an imaginary infinite, to dwell on her thoughts.  
But Ron continued:  
-Look at him, even though you feed him right, he still thinks he needs to hunt some mice to eat. I tell you, instincts!  
-I thought you said they couldn't think.  
-Semantics, OK? You know what I meant!- his ears were of the deepest crimson now, but lucky for him, Hermione did not even bother to look at him. Crookshanks chased his imaginary prey into the darkness, behind a sofa, and never got out for the rest of the night.

It was then, that the Messenger saw the Court. 


	4. Chapter 3

Crookshanks entered through the dark spot on the common Room on one end, and into the realm where the King inhabited, on the other.  
And he saw the Court. All fat-cats in their ruffs and furs, though that might have been just their skin's.  
They would seem to melt and transfigure every couple of seconds, and sometimes they looked humanoid, and sometimes they were just cats.  
But it was a Court, with a hall,and an aisle, and an elevated throne, where the King awaited for the audience. Crookshanks, The Messenger, attempted to come forward, but was stopped by two spears that crossed violently in front of him, denying him entry.  
-Mehehehehe- The meowed, sing-song laughter of the King, though feeble, echoed through the halls of the Court. -Now, now, guards, 'don't shoot the Messenger' --and all the cats chuckled at this remark, in an equally meowed voice.

-Allow him to approach me, we have matters to settle, am I not right?- he asked directly looking at Crookshanks' face, at the dark spots, where his own eyes used to be.

But Crookshanks could see, nonetheless; he had the King's eyes in his mind now, and it was just time to give them back.  
The King.  
The cats.

And the screeching voiced echoed once again, be it on the hall's walls or in his mind, he couldn't really tell:

"Long live the Cat and long live the Cat-King King of all cats and king of all things"

Again and again, in a weird crescendo.  
Crookshanks soon realized it was the chant of the hundreds of meowing cats in the court. Meowing that sounded like the screeching voice, at times, and at times it was just meowing.

-Come hither- insisted the Cat-King.

Crookshanks did so, stepping on eggshells, like a tiger towards the prey; altive, but cautious.

-It's time you give me back my eyes, and maybe a deal or two.  
And the King seemed content, once more.


	5. Chapter 4

There had been a huge storm going on for the previous days --and nights--, and it seemed like the sun would never rise up again.  
But it did, or it looked like so. Hermione was already up, from her startling dream; she looked at the clock in the dorm room, and she thought she saw...both hands on top of number twelve.  
It couldn't be noon, the shadows were not hard as they are when the sun is right on the cenith.  
She discarded midnight, because she saw the light coming in from the window, it was the dawn, and what a beautiful dawn it was; the dawn of days and days of unending darkness, produced by the previous storm, can prove to be the most beautiful dawn of all.

Maybe I'm not seeing the numbers on the clock right, she thought. Maybe I need glasses, like Harry does.  
Harry.  
How was he? Had he had a good night? She couldn't wait to go have a look at him in the infirmary, where she and Ron had taken him the previous day, after seeing no improvement on his condition. They would've preferred to keep this type of thing a secret, as they so usually did, under Harry's advice, but this time -she thought- even Harry himself would never risk anybody's health like this.  
Hermione rubbed her eyes a couple of times, and squinted to try to see the right time on the clock, again.

And then it began to chime.

One, two, three, four, five.

'Everything's right'.

Six, seven, eight.

'Could be eight, it looks like it could be eight, even though it's dawning, isn't it...?'

Nine.  
Ten.  
Eleven.

Maybe she didn't really need glasses, after all...

Twelve.

'That clock's definitely broken'.

Thirteen.

Her heart skipped a beat. Thirteen chimes was still scary, even when her rational self told her the clock must've been broken.

At thirteen, a shadow loomed over Hermione's bed, startling her, as it began to speak in a soft, sing-song voice:

'It so happened that I needed a little ditty to begin our conversation with'  
Hermione looked as if shocked by lightning.

'And I found a very good one on this little black book I stole from a big empty house; would you care to hear'  
It didn't wait for a reply, it just cleared its voice, and began ceremoniously:  
'Everything under the heaven has a time'

Hermione looked around hurriedly, trying to define where the voice came from; both the voice and the shadow seemed to be everywhere she turned her head.

'And so it says' --it continued-- 'that there's a time to kill, as well as a time to heal'  
It paused, and if Hermione hadn't been so scared, she would've noticed every pause from the voice had some dramatic inspiration to it.  
'There's also a time to break down, and a time to build up' --it paused again, briefly, to add --'oh, how I love a good rhyme'  
The voice seemed to savour itself, as it continued:

'A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together'. It paused once again, and quickly added, registering frustration in its voice: 'ah, but see how they ruined it for me? I don't see how that verse could be relevant to our little business here. But anyway, it goes on like this for few more verses, you know; la-dee-da to keep, la-dee-dum to cast away; yadda-yadda rend, yaddi-yadda sew; but ah, here comes my favourite part.'

It made another dramatic pause, then took a deep breath,...and boomed so strong, that Hermione wondered why no one else was awaken by this:

'A TIME TO KEEP SILENCE, AND A TIME TO SPEAK.'

Then, added in its regular softer sing-song voice: 'This is what brought me here, this is what brought you trouble,  
and this is our time to speak'.

Fourteen.

But she wasn't counting chimes anymore.

Hermione gasped, and turned to look at the foot of her bed, as she felt the weight of a big body on it, a weight that suddenly felt really small.  
A silhouette appeared.  
The King had arrived for a chat. 


	6. Chapter 5

"We'll gather lilacs in the spring again,

And walk together down an endless lane,

Until our hearts have learned to sing again,

When you come home once more.

And in the evening by the firelight glow,

You'll hold me close and never let me go,

Your eyes will tell me all I want to know,

When you come home once more".

'First and foremost, that is my favourite song'.

Hermione was too shocked and scared to try to understand the King's rather unusual opening statement.

'I think one should always share that type of information on a first meeting. -he continued- 'It is not only a "safe" ice-breaker (as it is impossible to find any particular perversion in it), it's information that may come in very handy, if the other individual knows how to read it properly...between the lines, I mean' -he corrected himself, while Hermione had begun to regain her composture, and even found that last remark, rather patronizing.

'So...'-began the King, stepping into the frame of moonlight, reflected on Hermione's bed covers.  
Then she really saw the talking figure for what it was. A cat. Fat, but a rather small one. No bigger than her issue of 'Hogwarts, a History', only hairy and soft; so he was more like her copy of The Monster book of Monsters; all this she thought privately, amidst her confussion, which was slowly beginning to wear off, if she was regaining her initial wit.

'SO' -mark the Kind repeating himself, once he noticed that he'd lost the attention of his audience.  
Hermione gasped back.  
The King's last word had been voiced differently. It was almost like a rauckus meowing, but also a deep voice that was inside her head...somehow.

'So...'-began the King, one last time, this one in his normal voice- 'little girl, little girl'  
It seemed to Hermione that the he had begun reciting something, only she found slightly amusing to be called 'little', when the cat wasn't exactly a jungle tiger.  
And she would've said something too, but again fear took a toll on her wit when she saw what can only be described as terrifying: the cat's eyes illuminated with a red glow, and his shadow grew ten times darker and ten times larger. It was alsmost as if it had become a being on its own right, that seemed to echo the King's voice and movements, but at the same time made them monstrous and evil.  
The cat opened his snout to speak again and Hermione gasped once more when she saw the new, engorged fangs,  
ready to talk:  
'Aye, little girl, quite little indeed; seems to me that you shall not doubt my size ever again'.

Had he been inside her head moments ago or had he only guessed what Hermione had been thinking about the King's size?

Whatever the answer, the King was soon speaking again, as the shadows around him seemed to multiply, but lessen their intensity:  
'...Then thou shalt not doubt, and thou shalt never doubt again, if thou would like me not to be inside thy little mind, as little as thy body, ever again'  
The muiltiplied shadows ruffled, echoing the cat's words and gestures.  
Among all, she had noticed how the cat had turned to the use of words that were already dead in their language.

'So, anyway' -the King was jovial and casual once again, although the multiple shadows still lurked around the room, which Hermione thought was a constant reminder- 'what brings you to my precense, little girl?'

-W-what brings me to your prescence? -the girl dared venture. 


End file.
